


There's a Monster Raging Inside you (I wish I could help)

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gavin thinks his feelings are one sided, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Takes place in between chapter 4 and 5 of Who is (your) God, but they aren't, he's just being a depressed bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: a·ban·don·ment/əˈbandənmənt/Noun•the action or fact of abandoning or being abandoned.ORYou can only leave a person behind so many times before they start searching for any way to dull the pain of worthlessness.





	There's a Monster Raging Inside you (I wish I could help)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Who is (Your) God?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399189) by [Confused_Em0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confused_Em0/pseuds/Confused_Em0). 



> This fic is not an attempt to plagerize or steal the story/ideas of Confused_Em0. I have the utmost respect for said author and the beautiful story that they have created. I merely wish to expand upon an idea that I had while reading the most recent chapters (chapters 4 and 5).
> 
> To the author: If you want this removed, just comment and I'll delete it. I haven't read your story in a while, so I apologise if there are any continuity errors.

The fluorescent pink lights of the Eden Club stand out in the sleeping darkness of night time Detroit. I dance around the pole, watching the appraising gazes of potential customers. After the revolution, I decided to return to my job as a sex worker. While it isn't the most classy of jobs, I feel comfortable here. I am treated better and now I have money to compensate for my services.

I've gotten my fair share of interesting clients, but none of them can match the enigma that is Gavin Reed. I will never forget the night that he marched into the Eden Club, hair unkempt and eyes sullen. Nor will I forget the first words that he said to me after paying for my services.

“Help me.” He had stated, his shoulders slumped. It had shocked me at first. He is a buff and well muscled man that should scream and holler self-assurance. Yet his body language had been anything but confident. When I had looked in his eyes, I saw nothing. There was no life behind them. It was like I was staring into the eyes of a rotting corpse or stagnant machinery. Before I could even get a word out, he had grasped my shoulders tightly, like he was afraid I was going to disappear if he blinked.

“Please help me. Please make me forget.” He pleaded, a dull flicker passing through his irides before an eerie familiar look of nothingness returned. In that moment, I was able to see a glimpse of something more. Of what appeared to be years worth of hurt and loneliness etched upon his heart. I had no words to give him. No words to ease the pain that had taken root in his entire body. In his dead eyes. In his shaking hands. In his strong grip. In his weak heart. So I nodded and lead him to a private room, hoping I could provide him with some semblance of relief from whatever terrible occurrence plagued his life.

Most clients leave with little more than an awkward thanks. Gavin was different. After he redressed himself, he embraced me tightly, the soft 'Thank you’ barely audible even to an android like myself. I had watched him go, the hard lines of stress and rigid movements returning to his body as he put the mask of indifference back on. I didn't know why, but it made me sad to watch him go. To watch him self-destruct.

* * *

 

He became a regular of sorts. He didn't come often (no more than twice a week), but he always choose me. After our sessions were up, we would banter with each other. After some well placed words and soft prodding, he told me that he was a detective at the Detroit Police Department, specializing in narcotics. His dream was to become captain of the police force. And, as of now, he worked alone. When I asked him if he ever had a partner, he became very quiet and demure, that dead look returning to his eyes. It didn't take a genius (or a detective, for that matter) to realize that whatever happened with his partner was the reason that he was so distraught. I managed to steer the conversation elsewhere but I knew something had to be done.

Fast forward to now. After I finished my shift at the club, I find myself inside of an android friendly cafe called The Great Lakes. Interesting name, to say the least. Although it served no food or drinks for androids since they cannot eat, anyone is free to mingle there if they so choose. It is the perfect place to meet up with North. She maintains frequent contact with all of the Eden Club workers, past and present, so it was very easy to get ahold of her and request a meeting.

“Hey there,” North says, sliding ungracefully into the seat across from me. My eyes shine with amusement at her casualness. She is so different from the person that she was during the revolution.

“There… is something I want to discuss with you,” I start, unsure as to how I want to begin this conversation. By law, I cannot discuss any clients by name since revealing their activities without a warrant is a violation of privacy.

“Yes?” She questions, amused.

“I need advice. About a human client,” I start, almost immediately realizing my mistake. North tenses, her eyes narrowing with judgement.

“What did she do to you? Is she hurting you?” She asks, tensely calm. I swallow and make a mental note to never get on her bad side. And also to watch my phrasing.

“No. It's nothing like that. I… have a regular of sorts. He treats me fine and is very considerate. But…” I trail off, unsure of how to phrase the next part. I don't want to make him seem like he's weak or manipulative.

“But…?” North encourages. I sigh.

“He's depressed. While he never comes drunk, I can smell alcohol and cigarette smoke on him. The first time he approached me, he told me that he wants me to help him forget. He has never specified what or whom he wants to forget,” I start. I decide to leave out all personal details since North and the former deviant hunter- (Connor. That's his name.) are very close. “I have reason to believe that he wants to forget someone that... he was close to.”

“Do you know if this... person was his boyfriend?” North asks. I shake my head.

“I have no clue. We talk sometimes but it's never about why he comes to the club. And the details that he has shared with me are only about his occupation and life goals,” I reply, rubbing the bridge of my nose. She nods.

“Have you tried to reach out to him outside of your… sessions together?” North says. I noted her careful phrasing of sessions. I shake my head again.

“No. It… would not paint him in a favorable light to be seen with a HR400 by his co-workers and boss,” I say. “I would tell you more, but I do not want to betray his privacy.”

North nods. She doesn't say anything for a few minutes, her face contemplative. She sighs abruptly and leans back, her eyes closed with resignation.

“I don't think there is anything you can do for him now. From what you have said, he just wants to make excuses. He wants to run away from his problems like a typical human. And when he can't run away, he drowns his sorrows in alcohol, nicotine, and sex,” She replied. I want to tell her that she's oversimplifying the situation, that there is more to Gavin than just someone running away from their problems. But I don't say anything.

“You're right. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” I say, standing up. She nods, joining me.

“Have a good night, Richard,” North says as she turns to the right. She walks a few steps before stopping. “Don't let yourself get too attached.”

Her words are a warning that came too late. I nod anyways and continue in the opposite direction towards my apartment. Despite her harsh words, North is right. I can't help Gavin, just not for the reasons she thinks. I can't help Gavin because he doesn't want to be helped. His wounds are too raw and too fresh to scar over. They have to heal before rehabilitation can start.

I pick my head up, unaware that my gaze had fallen to the ground, and make a vow. Gavin, from the glimpses I have seen, is a caring and kind person. A kind and caring person that feels the claws of abandonment. A kind and caring person that hides behind a facade while a monster destroys him from the inside, fueled by the toxins he inhales in copious amounts.

I don't want to see Gavin fall. I don't want to see him die. So I vow. I vow to do anything and everything in my power to help Gavin, even if it meant that I would only serve as a temporary distraction to his pain for an indefinite amount of time.

**Author's Note:**

> (Edit: I don't usually add onto/fix parts of a story after I publish it, but dear god my spelling and conjugation was (is) atrocious. I'm sorry. I'm not used to writing in the present tense XD)
> 
> I wanted to explore more as to what Gavin's grief would look like. And if he can resort to drinking himself into oblivion when he despises alcohol and get himself addicted to cigarettes again, then he could quite easily fall into having sex to (try and) forget his grief.
> 
> I wrote this in like, three hours. Please be gentle with the hate.
> 
> Yes, the plural of Iris (when referring to eyes) is irides. I'm not happy either.
> 
> The cafe mentioned in the fic is actually a Cafe in Detroit. Don't know how good it is cause I've never been to Detroit so yeah...


End file.
